MOM ON THE RUN: You never know what the morning brings

Three mornings in the day of the life of this Mom on the Run:

***

I hesitated before I punched the “cash back” button on the debit card reader at Costco. I hadn’t planned to get cash, but … well, I didn’t have even a dollar. So, “OK,” I tapped, and received a crisp $20 bill.

I carried the money straight to the food court and spent $3.76 on lunch. I dug for 76 cents, which lightened my load and resulted in the ideal change: a ten, a five, and two one-dollar bills. Perfect! A wallet loaded with good denominations.

So last night when my daughter asked for $5 to get into the girls’ lacrosse game, I was feeling generous. Usually I make her spend her own money, but she doesn’t have a job and was going to cheer on a friend, so, “Sure,” I said, and handed her the five, which still left me plenty of money.

But then this morning when, checking schedules for tonight, that daughter says, “I’m leaving at 4 p.m. for the Key Club banquet. I’ll be back late. Oh, and I need $13.50.”

“All I have is $12,” I tell her, reaching for my purse. I hand it over, then realize: less than 12 hours and my wallet is empty … again.

***

“Jack! No!” I leapt and grabbed the dog, pried the bagel out of his mouth. “No stealing people food!” I had been waiting for this moment. Newly adopted Jack is big enough to easily pick tidbits off the dining room table. We’re not used to that in our house, we often step away from our seats for a second, or leave plates on the side, close to Jack’s quivering nose. And my eighth-grade son, studying the sports section over breakfast, had slid his toasted buttered bagel to the very edge of the kitchen table.

I sliced off the hunk of bagel Jack had between his teeth and handed the rest back to my son. “Now be careful,” I told him. “Sit there and finish that. Don’t tempt him again.”

“And you,” I turned and pointed at the dog, whose eyes were still locked on the plate. “You get back. Go on now, shoo.”

It’s just a minute later and I’m at the sink, washing apples for lunches. I hear a rustle and turn — and there’s Jack, closing in on the kitchen table. “Hey!” I holler at the dog … and at my son, who’s up, leaning into the fridge. “Get back over there! Watch your bagel!” And I realize: I’m going to have to teach the dog, because apparently I can’t teach the kid.

***

It’s trash day. Usually that’s a last-minute chore, our trash guys come about the time I leave for work, so I just gather everything and drag it down to the curb in the morning. But that makes trash-day mornings rushed, and I always miss something.

So last night I made a distinct effort to do everything early: I emptied all the trash cans, wheeled the garbage can out, carried the recycling bins down. This morning I gathered the last-minute morning recyclables — a green tea bottle and a strawberry tub — and handed them to my son for drop-off on his way out the door.

And now, how delightful! It’s all done! I revel in the calm, enjoy the empty wastebaskets, and feel silly pride when I look outside and see the garbage can and recycle bins already set out. I hear the roar of the garbage trucks, usually a call to action, and smile: this trash day was truly well managed.

Until, getting a can of soda from the garage fridge, I happen to look to my right. There, on the recycling bin shelves, the green tea bottle and strawberry tub. My son put them there, in the empty spot, rather than dropping them into the bins at the curb. My heart leaps; I slam down my soda, snatch up the plastics, and run out the door, yelling, “Wait!”

Lianne Wilkens lives with her family in Manassas. She can be reached at liannewilkens@hotmail.com.